sister, sister: s1, ep. 1
born close, bound closer: on sisterhood, identity, and the quiet glory of being known (and seen)
I've always been deeply drawn to understanding the meanings behind things—to make better sense of the world around me. Whether it's words, numbers, or symbols, I’ve found comfort in uncovering what lies beneath the surface.
According to my mother, she named me Gloria because I was her miracle child...but there was more to it. My name is rooted in the word glory, which means “high renown or honor won by notable achievements.” More importantly to her, it carried the spiritual meaning of “glory to God.” She became pregnant with me just a month or two after giving birth to my sister, Joyce—something no doctor would recommend. We’re about 10 months and 12 days apart. In fact, her birthday is today: July 12.
Maybe that’s why I was struck, even as a child, by the quiet magic in our birthdays. Mine is May 24. Joyce’s is July 12. There was something poetic about it—12 and 24—her number tucked neatly inside mine, like a secret message only we could interpret. Our birth dates were multiples of each other, as if even time itself knew we were linked from the very beginning.
As I transitioned from a newborn to a curious toddler, I became increasingly aware of this particular girl who was always by my side. Everywhere we went, our mother dressed us alike. Our parents combined our birthdays into one summer celebration in June—a thoughtful midpoint between my May birth and her July one. Wherever we were, she always held my hand.
Though we were less than a year apart, she instinctively stepped into the role of an older sister. Even in those early years, she carried herself with a quiet sense of responsibility and care—protective by nature. And sometimes I wonder: who would I be without her? Without a sister like Joyce? Without an Irish twin who became my best friend? Without growing up believing that love, at its core, is protective?
Sisterhood is a bond older than time, and one of my favorite shows growing up, “Sister, Sister”, captured that magic beautifully. We glued ourselves to the screen, watching stories of unbounded love unfold. In Season 1, Episode 1—”The Meeting”—two girls, by the name of Tia Landry and Tamara Campbell, discover they are sisters in a department store after being separated at birth. That moment felt like more than just a scene; it mirrored our own kind of connection and deepened the way we saw each other.
I’m not entirely sure when we first understood—really deeply understood—that we were more than just sisters. But once we did, we became people who couldn’t help but be drawn to each other, again and again.
Throughout middle school, high school, and even college, I’ve never known anyone who stayed so close to my feelings. It’s like our thoughts had a secret passageway between them—whatever one of us was thinking, the other already seemed to feel. Joyce knows, without question, that Denzel Washington is my favorite actor. She grew up rewatching all the Black sitcoms with me—Moesha, One on One, A Different World. Those shows raised us, in a way, and they gave language to the world we were figuring out together.
I remember trying out for the basketball team because she did. I wanted to be like her so bad. She was in 7th grade, I was in 6th. She made the team—I didn’t. I was devastated. But then they offered me the role of team manager. And I took it. Not because I cared about basketball stats or water bottles, but because it meant I could be near her. It meant I could stay in her orbit and that was enough for me.
She has always been the kind of person who notices everything—the smallest mood shifts, the quietest crack in my voice, the octaves in my laughter. And my only hope is that I can continue to reflect that same attention and care back to her. That I can love with the same selflessness she’s shown me, over and over again.
It amazes me sometimes: we don’t get to choose the families we’re born into. We don’t get to decide the circumstances or shape of our early lives. We don’t choose our blood, or the people tied to us by it. And yet, somehow—I got lucky.
To my dear sister, Joyce: You are forever the “joy” to my “glory.”
Happy birthday.